Coal Dog rubbed his head irritably, running his fingers through his dishevelled brown hair. His eyes, a watery sea-green, were bleary with sleep. His chin was shadowed with stubble, though no beard.He was well muscled and tanned from years on the sea, and his outfit spoke of his former home on the Southern Seas. His left arm was clad entirely in scarred plates of armor, strapped across his bare chest with a leather thong. Around his neck were a charm necklace with the symbol of some sea-spirit and a sinew thong strung with coins, claws, and feathers. Three great scars marked the left side of his chest, running back to his spine, the marks of a battle with a fierce island-tiger.He wore baggy shorts that hung to his knees, belted with silk. Many small silk and cotton wraps and cloths were tied to the belt, as well as three or four small pouches at his right hip. A sword, slightly curved, hung at his right hip as well. His callused feet were barefoot.He tried to get to his feet, but a wave of dizziness and nausea made him fall down once again, and he cracked his pounding head against the sweating stone wall."Uunnnh...Coal Dog, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" he said groggily to himself. "Last... thing I remember is... Chakana... What was I doing with Chakana?" He shook his head and slowly rose to his feet.

Jade checked the poor fellow. He was still alive, though barely. She looked at his glowing knife, but didn't touch it. It was unquestionably magical, she could smell it all the way across the hall. She was a little concerned about the shuffling creature that was approaching. The hair was starting to stand up on the back of her neck. But she could hear something else over the hideous cackling, it sounded like other voices.

(OOC: If you could, could you give me a short description of what the magic on the knife might remind her of, seeing as how she can smell magic? It doesn't neccessarily have to have anything to do with the actual function.)

One more stumbled up the hallways as well, just in time to see the man with the dagger fall to the ground. Searren counted that tiny blessing that there seemed to be enough light for his elven eyes, no, eye, a searing pain reminded him, to see by. Searren does not speak as he begins to approach Tarquin and Jade, though he hardly hides the sound of his coming. It's hard enough to move silently in the red and gold half-plate of his order when it's well cared for, let alone when it's battered and torn in places from battle. As he realizes the presence of others, he simply comes to a halt, to examine them with a single emerald eye, the torn void of the other eye obscured by hair the color of flame, keeping his hand well away from the blade at his side. He'll let them act first, for now, he has no way to tell if they're friend or foe.

(OOC: Ria, Searren, his armor, and his sword will more than likely smell like a brushfire.)

Jade looked up at the sound of someone wearing armor approaching. He seemed to be a little worse for wear. She might have said something, but the smell of the magic surrounding him sent her off into a fit of sneezing. She didn't much like the scent of a brushfire. As she stopped sneezing, she wondered briefly if she was doomed to be doing that for the rest of the time she was here. But she wasn't quite sure what to make of the stranger, and checked her crossbow again.

Tarquin stumbled a half-step backwards as a man crashes into the wall above the woman he was conversing with, and he quietly curses, muttering at how little control he has over the current situation. His hellish eyes widen at the sound of something shuffling towards them, and his eyes shift through the gaze, penetrating the darkness and attempting to see what exactly it IS that is stalking towards them. Since it seems to be taking its time, however, Tarquins eyes now turn apon the sound of clinking metal, and his gaze falls apon the new arrival - Saerren. Pale lips curling into a faint scowl, he eyes this man up and down, studying every visible detail. Things are occuring much too fast for Tarquins comfort, and he feels he may lose control of this situation before long... Either way, he finally simply offers a nod to this new man before turning and lowering himself down to the unconscious person, kneeling and studying the person for visible wounds. This man may be useful - if alive enough to be within Tarquins healing power, he could be a useful ally. And if he is beyond healing, Tarquin could bring him back as an undead to bolster their ranks and to send forward to search for traps without a great loss of life. Whilst studying this nameless man, he takes a moment to ponder over the words he uttered...

"she....(cough)......don't trust...........me and Lyrid went to help.....don't trust....he's dead...."

... Tarquin wonders over who this 'she' is... To him, it seems this 'Lyrid' and this man wandered into a trap. And Tarquin intends to not make the same mistake.

Andimia begins running up the corridor towards the voices. The darkness behind her has been making her uneasy, as do the mysterious footsteps that she keeps hearing all around her. She suddenly has a memory flash as to what she was doing prior to awaking in this strange placeÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã‚Â¦ The man on the street ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã‚Â¦ The gold coinsÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã‚Â¦ the shardÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã¢â‚¬Âthe cutÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã¢â‚¬Âthe bright starsÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã‚Â¦ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã‚Â¦ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã‚Â¦.. *smack* Andimia ran head-on into the wall, bouncing off and slamming to the ground with a thud. ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…â€œd**nit!ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬? she cursed herself for not noticing the turn in the darkness. She got back on her feet with her hand on her forehead, trying to shake it off. As she stumbled through the darkness she saw a faint glow up ahead. ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…â€œFinally a little change in luck.ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬? As Andimia turned the corner and saw a cavern with three people standing in it and another laying on the ground. They all had their backs to her as she walked up behind them. ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…â€œWhatÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢s going on?ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬? she inquired, also signifying her presence to the others.

A little worse for the wear was probably a good way to put it. Still, Searren smiles faintly as that weapon is checked, and he shakes his head. "I'd save that for whatever's making all the noise." At least he's not quite alone here, there's humanoids, and they don't seem hostile yet. His single eye spends several seconds taking in Tarquin, before it moves further down the hall. The knight himself is a touch shorter than the average human, and of a slight build, not exactly the sort normally associated with armor, at least not quite as heavy as he wears. Interlocking plate and chain fully covers him, except for his head, with plate over his breast, shoulders, back, thighs, and feet, and the chain to fill the gaps. From the three, parallel, and rather new seeming tears across his face, it's rather easy to guess where the helm went. Crimson and gold, the armor looks to have taken a savage beating recently, with another set of claw marks cut into the front of the breastplate. The blade that hangs at the man's side is a long blade, sized to match his frame, slender and slightly short, with a firey ruby set in its pommel.

While he doesn't turn his back to Jade and Tarquin just yet, Searren does step forwards far enough that he's between the other two and the source of the noise. As he moves, a sigil glints on the crimson and gold armor, a sort of stylized flame. "Might want to save the names too." After all, names are no use to the dead, and that something sounds to Searren like it's big, and it's hunting. And so, he loosens the blade at his side in its scabbard, murmering something inaudible in elvish.

Tarquins eyes widen in surprise at the new voice and he stands rapidly from his position, turning swiftly to stare at the new arrival. Apon shifting his gaze up and down over the thief, his eyes narrow slightly, and he tilts his head to one side slightly, speaking half to himself, "Just how many people IS there down here!?" He shakes his head faintly, then blinks and nods once to the new woman, now addressing her fully, "What is going on, is that we are all in peril. That is all you need to know for the moment." Cold and straight to the point. That is Tarquins nature. He idly raises a hand to tug on his hood, drawing it further over his features as though shunning what little light was given in these caverns, but he allows his crimson eyes to remain fixed apon Andimia. "What is your name, woman?" He quirks a brow, but also now trains his eyes apon the other male, "And you. Your name as well...?" Though questions, his words may have sounded like an order to the two.

*rubs her forehead* "My name is Andimia. What I would like to know is what kind of peril are we in?" She is uneasy. The only kind of humanoid contact that she is used to is with people who are either trying to kill her, trying to escape her, or trying to rip her off.

Tarquin may very well be one of those three that Amidia is used to, but she will have to find that out herself. He narrows his gaze slightly at the womans words, obviously displeased she wishes to ask further of him. Finally, he exhales in a faint sigh - better having allies than foes for the moment in this place... "Very well. You are currently in the 'Dark lands'. There is only one way out of this place, and it is filled with dangerous creatures, subtle traps and illusions." He sighs faintly, before turning back to the unconscious man, lowering down to look him over more, though still talking to the woman, "That is why you are in peril. I am Tarquin."

From the man in plate comes only the simplest response. "You may call me Searren." Oddly, this rogue's gallery of allies isn't really making him feel any better about having something large and raspy bearing down on him. "This whole place needs to burn."

Andimia also shifts her attention to the man lying on the ground. Her curiosity gets the best of her as she notices the dagger. She kneels next to Tarquin to get a better look. The dagger seems to call to her, the white glow entices her ::She reaches out a hand to touch itÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã‚Â¦ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã‚Â¦::

(OOC: If the GM don't show up soon, we'll simply go on without him. We may not be going for the story he wants, but that's his problem. Cap, find a way to join the throng, I guess.)

Jade grabbed the other woman's hand. "That might not be such a good idea." She'd sometimes seen the results of handling magical artifacts indescriminately. She wished that things would quiet down; the echoes were starting to hurt her sensitive ears. But she had a pretty good idea of which passage the shuffling thing was coming down now, and she would probably be able to see it soon.

(OCC: Ah, if there isn't a GM, then I suppose he can't mind me joining...)

Crystal sculptures of flame lined and arched over the doorway. The massive stone slab that served as the floor was circular and floated on a bath of roiling magma. Cracks rippled around it, making the floor quite unstable. Deeply engraved upon the rock was the Guardian crest. Through the crest, magma ran, hot and fluid. The whole effect was that of a blood channel running through a sword. The stone slab moved slightly with the movement of the roiling lava. Circling the whole room was a series of black granite pillars, each one carved out so that lava twined around like orange vines, except these vines sprouted fire, not leaves. Scorched from the heat, the heavy limestone walls were almost black in color, partially coated with ash. It created an almost ethereal aspect, as if the walls were not there at all.

Tras advanced cautiously, his dark brown eyes darting towards sudden movements that the fire and lava made. The air was stiff with heat, stifling and taking a breath was like sipping on boiling tea. There was no one to be seen. Tras relaxed slightly, loosing his hold on his weapons. Dangling from his right hand was an eight inch blade, its gleaming surface pounded out from various metal alloys. Instead of being a straight blade, it was slightly curved, and the blood channel ran through on both sides, engraved like a dragon’s eye. In the man’s other hand was a blade of similar nature except it was over three and a half feet, lightweight but extremely sharp.

Sweat was slowly pooling and dripping down his body. It did not help that he was wearing heavy plated armor. Several more steps and he was at the center of the ring of fire. A column of fire suddenly shot out of the blistered rock, sending streams of sparks and rubble into the air. Tras jumped back in surprise, flinging his weapons up in a defensive posture. To his surprise, instead of meeting an enemy’s blade, his weapons met nothing of substance. The rapier Vyre went cleaving through the fire column and his short hunting knife whistled in the stark air. Laughter rang out, seeming to ride in the hot atmosphere and as Tras staggered to his feet, leather boots blackened from the ash and his armor slowly beginning to heat, the fires around him seemed to leap into the air. The knight glanced about in fury and frustration at an enemy that would not show himself.

Fine. The mage won’t show himself, I’ll force him to!

Tras was an anti-mage. Most are born with a spark of magic. Tras was born with a spark of un-magic. Antimagic can be a powerful thing in a world that relies heavily on it. In one swift motion Tras sheathed Vyre and the knife and threw out his hands. Uncontrolled antimagic shot out in one raw shock wave. Tras felt the fire blackened stone beneath his feet begin to crumble and he realized to his horror that he was standing in the middle of a huge spell, which was now collapsing. The laughter that had sounded before was returned, louder and more malicious than ever. An orb dropped in front of him and he grabbed it, even as the ground beneath him split, sending splashes of magma onto the stone around him. As soon as his gauntlets touched the inky black orb, an undulating rhythm filled his head and in the next instant the heat became unbearable. Then there was nothing.

Tras awoke in darkness, a dank smell curling around his nose as he tried to sit up. His entire body was sore and his armor had not helped that very much. His head was still undulating and he couldn’t seem to see very clearly. Figures in the distance started moving towards him, shadows in the flickering light. He stood uncertainly then backed away, still shaking his head, trying to clear it.

Andimia flinched, then blinked as if being released from a trance. She shook her head and then stood up and stepped back. Standing in silence she realized that her curiosity almost got her in trouble again. ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…â€œSorry, I donÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢t know what I was thinking.ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬? She tightened the bandage on her left hand and listened to the strange shuffling echo throughout the cavern.